Silent Haven
by Tawnya Kisaragi
Summary: The ghosts of the past can haunt even the brightest of futures. Haven's future now that the Metalhead War is over wasn't exactly shining to begin with, but this particular ghost threatens to make the war a pleasant dream and it's older than any of them truly realize. It's time to go back to the beginning. Based on the psychology of the Silent Hill series.
1. Chapter 1

Been playing with this on and off again for the last couple Halloween seasons and finally ended up with enough to actually call it a story. Hope you enjoy!

~Tawnya

* * *

The taint was spreading. He could smell it.

Dark sniffed the wind, shifting so slightly he barely moved at all. Still, it brought the wind into sharp focus. There was the usual assortment of heavy metal rust, cloying sweet rot, and fear-spiked blood, but now there was more. He took a couple deep, slow breaths, noting hot oil, smoke, sweat, and, very faintly, ozone. Another slight shift brought out grass, animals, and water. Then he growled.

Extensions. Subtractions. Here, it happened all the time, the world growing and shrinking in much the same manner tides formed beach fronts. Boundaries shifted, sometimes in small ways, sometimes in large, but always in the one way it was pulled. This was more like invisible hands had taken the very fabric of this reality and stretched it, forcing the borders out in opposite directions. That alone was cause enough for concern—it meant not only that there was something else out there that could manipulate the barriers between Here and There, but that it was powerful enough to do as such in two places almost at once.

Most disturbingly, though, he couldn't smell the thing that had caused this. He could tell where it had been, feel what it had done, even vaguely gauge how long it had all taken. Yet, the nature of this new beast was completely lost to him, a nonexistent gap none of his senses could fill in. Nothing natural. Nothing unnatural. Just…nothing.

For the first time, Dark shifted, rumbling uneasily in his chest. He feared nothing in this Otherworld and there was little doubt could do to alter his usual plan of stalking and killing whatever new monstrosity had been birthed in his territory. He would fight because running or hiding was never an option, only a slower path to death. To protect what was his was the highest of honours, a pleasure and a duty he took seriously. Only this time, nothing was exactly what was coming for him, and that meant there was no defense or offense that could be taken at the moment. Not until he knew what was hiding amid all that nothingness, until he could ensure the Light would be protected.

Time had taught him patience, planning, subtlety, but he was still a creature of this place and his nature could not be denied. It started as a low growl, slowly building in volume and intensity until the loose debris around him started to vibrate in time. Lips pulled back from glistening fangs, teeth parted just enough to add an unearthly reverberation to the still growing snarl. Louder, stronger, backed by an equally steady build up of dark eco until it was nothing less than a deafening roar. Glass shattered and buildings shook, some with weaker supports collapsing in on themselves. Dark tipped his head back and screamed his defiance, the eco released to amplify both his voice and the threat he represented. The lesser creatures cringed, withdrawing to whatever hole had spawned them. The greater beasts stirred with unease within their chains and prisons, straining against their fetters until that wash of dark eco rolled across them, freezing them in their places.

It continued to echo long after the initial burst wore off. He stood statue still once more, waiting to see if there would be a response to his challenge. Silence became absolute. And then, very faintly, a something that was much more than just nothing. It quivered in the air, the barest vibration brushing along his skin. Dark bared his teeth again, finally breaking the still by stepping forward.

His enemy had shown their fear. By the end of this, fear would be the least of their worries.

()~()~()

"—and this morning we got another report of five more missing…are you even paying attention, Jak?"

Jak snapped back to the small room. He rubbed his eyes in an effort to cover up his momentary confusion. "Yes, Torn," he replied, sounding bored. "I heard you the last four times we've had this conversation. People are going missing all over the city, reports are rolling in about weird mass hallucinations, and everyone's starting to panic." He looked up and glared at the Guard Commander. "What the hell do you expect me to do about it?"

"Care, for starters," Torn spat back, "since most of those reports you've just so casually brushed off include mentions of a white demon-like creature in the center of a brunch of mutilated bodies."

"If you're going to accuse me of something, just spit it out," Jak growled, sitting up a bit straighter. "Don't hide behind someone else's words."

"I'm not accusing you of anything." He didn't say the rest of the sentence, _but someone is._ Torn waited a moment to make sure that silent part was understood before continuing. "Some insight on the matter would go a long way, however."

"I can't tell you what I don't know."

There was an exasperated sigh. "At least tell me you have a more credible witness to your whereabouts than the rat."

"I spent all of yesterday with Tess testing mods at the gun course. Before that, I was with Sig helping clear out the Underport. I've also spent time with Keira, Samos, and Vin. Are any of them credible, or do they not count since they're my friends, too?"

"That's not what this is about and you know it. Damn it, Jak, I'm trying to help you. Stop making it so difficult for me to do that." Torn slumped down in his seat and rubbed a tired hand over his face. He looked much older than his thirty years, sitting there behind his cramped desk piled high with papers. "We defeated the Baron. We beat the Metalhead Leader. We saved the city. But you know what we haven't done? Given the people a reason to believe in us. As far as they're concerned, we're just the same as the people we ousted. Different faces under different colours, but no different in any of the ways that count. And that means every problem, no matter how small, is a direct challenge to our authority. It's not fair, it's not right, it's just the way it is."

When Jak didn't say anything, Torn pinned him with a somber stare. "Your dark side means it's twice as bad for you as it is for the rest of us. When the shit hits the fan, people need someone to blame. War was the reason the king fell. Simple fear will be the reason they look at you."

"…you still haven't told me what to do about it."

"Go with some of my people—they're Underground agents that stayed on," Torn added when Jak started to protest. "You remember Terran and Zero, right? They're taking their squads to the latest sighting to investigate. Samos and Vin both agree that eco poisoning could be a likely cause; see if there's anything lingering around."

"You're using me as a divining rod?"

"You got a better idea?" the Commander challenged. Jak shook his head. "Just keep your eyes and ears peeled. There might be something, there's probably nothing, but we won't know which until it's a moot point."

"And if there is nothing?"

"Stay with people you trust. Go nowhere alone. The more hours of your day someone else can account for, the easier it will be to convince the Council, and the city, it's not you they're seeing. And no, Daxter doesn't count since he's _always_ with you. His opinion is obviously biased and everyone knows he'll lie through his teeth if it means getting out of trouble."

The blond nodded mutely and stood, only to be stopped at the door when Torn pushed an arm across the doorway before it actually opened. "For the record," he said softly, "I believe you when you say you don't know what's going on. But whatever is happening is centered around _you_. And while I could commend you ad nauseam for everything you've done for the city, my words are going to fall on deaf ears. So watch yourself. I'm tired of seeing innocent people getting crucified."

They shared a steady gaze for a moment longer, then Jak nodded again. He heard and understood the things left unsaid. Torn removed his arm and stepped back. The two parted company without another word.

He wasn't left to his thoughts for long. Daxter perked up from the chair he'd been left to wait in as soon as the door opened. By the time it had closed, the ottsel was across the floor and almost up to his usual position on the shoulder guard. He said nothing as they walked through the rest of the building the Freedom Guard had taken as their headquarters. The silence continued as they exited out onto the newly finished street.

The freshly built stone and glass structures seemed out of place with the memory of what had stood before. Haven had chosen its poorest district to start the renovations. Thusly, the Water Slums had been emptied of residents while these sturdy structures replaced ramshackle huts and solid sidewalks evened out what had been wandering boardwalks. As far back as he was in the district, construction was complete. There was some landscaping still to be done, but people were starting to move back into the area. Ashelin had demanded that those who had been forced to move in the first place also be the first to pick out their new homes. It wasn't doing nice things to the city treasury, supporting so many who could afford nothing, but it had helped stop a riot.

Jak didn't really see any of it. Instead, he turned and walked to the edge of the walkway, staring hard at the water that had been incorporated into the landscape rather than removed or built over. Cleaned to a sparkling consistency, it provided a perfect mirror-like surface for him to look into. From a distance, his reflection was normal, but as he leaned closer, subtle things changed. Skin began to whiten. Eyes darkened to a fathomless black. And then the most telling sign, the dark horns that neatly parted bone-bleached hair.

Dark grinned back from the water's surface.

"It's spreadin', ain't it?" Daxter finally said, taking in the image with surprising seriousness. Dark nodded once and Daxter swore. "Where?"

"Opposites." The voice came from Jak, slightly darker and rasping, as he repeated the other's words. "Gardens and steam works." He shook his head a bit and continued in a more normal voice. "The last batch of reports came from the industrial sector. We're going with the patrol who's investigating." The water rippled as Dark snarled his displeasure. Jak flicked the image in response. "I don't care. If it involves you, it involves me, too."

There was a pointed look at Daxter, who instantly bristled. "Get bent, both of ya. We all go, or we all stay. None a this divide-n-conquer bullshit."

It was pretty obvious Dark was not happy with the arrangement, but the grumbling was kept to a minimum. "Steam works. Careful. Thin ice." The image blanked as if a stray beam of sunlight had flashed across the surface, leaving Jak and Daxter staring at themselves afterwards. The blond rubbed his raw-feeling throat. "I hate it when he does that."

"You an' me both, pal." Daxter shook his fur out, but the ridge along his spine refused to flatten. Jak ran a hand down his friend's back in an attempt to be soothing. It was rather hard when he felt just as unsettled. In grim silence, he started walking. With all the construction still happening, all traffic had been relegated to the kind on foot. They had traveled quite a bit by the time Daxter spoke up again. "I can't believe I'm sayin' this, but…maybe we should tell Tattooed Wonder."

"Tell him what?" Jak demanded without slowing or looking at him. "That the insane plot of a madman two hundred years ago was completed by an equally insane madman a year and half ago? That those people really are seeing me standing on a killing field and that all the people I just slaughtered deserved it? That they weren't human anymore when they died?"

"He's not you."

"He _is_ me, Dax." Jak glanced over out of the corner of his eye. "It's different for you. You're all stuck on one side. Over there, that's me doing exactly what I was created for. It just didn't work out the way the Baron wanted."

"Yeah, well, Praxis was a messianic megalomaniac, emphasis on the 'maniac' part. He didn't have a clue about what he was doin'."

"And neither do we. We don't know anything that would be useful to anyone. Just, drop it, okay?" he said when Daxter tried to continue arguing. "We'll do what we've always done and take care of the problem before anyone has a chance to put two and two together. There's no point in putting the others in more danger than we already do."

"Ain't them I'm worried 'bout…" was the muttered reply.

The sentiment brought a slight smile to Jak's face. "Come on. Let's remind everyone why we're called the Demolition Duo. Maybe if we destroy something big, they'll leave us alone for a while."

That earned a snort from the ottsel. "Not likely, but I'm always game for bein' a pain in Torn's tattooed ass."

* * *

To be continued.


	2. Chapter 2

The moment they entered the specified area, all their joking slammed to a stop. Dark hadn't been exaggerating with his thin ice comment. The still air was heavy, acrid, and vaguely slimy in a way that was more appropriate to deep swampland than a back alley created by tightly packed factories. There was something sickly-sweet that clung to the back of the throat, resulting in more than one Freedom Guard retching. A fine fog had taken over the ground despite the summer heat, supposedly the results of a broken steam pipe further back. Everyone blamed the awkward crush of buildings and the searing sun for the sweat trickling down their necks and faces. Jak didn't disillusion them as he stared at the darkened corridor.

"Of all the hellgates I've seen before, this has to be the most innocuous."

He glanced over to the tall man who'd stepped up beside him, the only one so far who'd dare get that close—to Jak and to the alleyway. Terran was a bear of a man in looks and strength, but more stuffed animal when it came to personality. He had his large arms crossed over his equally large chest, a habitual stance that left his armour straining more than usual to accommodate his sheer size. He'd refused the traditional Guard helmet and facemask, as most Rebellion-turned-Guard members did, letting his carefully maintained beard spill down across his chest plate. They had only worked together a couple times during the war itself since they had operated in completely different circles, but Terran's frank and honest nature had made them easy acquaintances.

"Still carrying around that rug on your face, I see," Jak said, lightly jabbing at the man's pride and joy.

"Still playing in the kiddie pool with that scruff on your chin," was the retort. Terran tsked and shook his head. "When are you going to man up and grow something the women will really coo over?"

Daxter snickered. "Jak's already got somethin' the women coo over—"

The blond jerked his shoulder, almost dislodging his friend from his perch, ending the sentence there. There was a good natured gawf as Terran's heavy hand landed on the other shoulder. "Indeed he does—big guns and fuzzy animals always equal warm beds."

Before Jak could open his mouth to defend himself, he noticed that a second man had joined them. Zero was exactly like his moniker. There was nothing outstanding or extraordinary about him, nothing that made him memorable beyond being just another face in the crowd, easily forgotten after being met. It had been an invaluable asset to someone in the Underground's spy network. It didn't seem like a desirable trait for someone in charge of a squad.

"Perimeter's secured," Zero said in that soft, neutral voice of his. "Base confirms this is the only entrance."

"We all know how well Base keeps its maps," Terran muttered, instantly back to being serious.

"Other possible exits have also been locked down. Initial sweeps have yielded nothing."

Terran stroked his beard in thought, once more eyeing the corridor. "So, a road to the nowhere leads to this supposed murder site. Just what in the hell was someone doing back there in the first place is what I want to know."

"As do a lot of people. But the original complainant can no longer be found. Neither can the two men who were supposed to escort her home."

"And then Torn sends me you…" The large man swept his eyes over Jak, who gazed back with a mild challenge. "Keep your eyes and ears open," he said to Zero without looking away. "My unit will scout the interior, yours will hold the line. You hear the word, you shut this entire sector down."

Zero saluted and left, a small nod of deference to Jak the only acknowledgement of his presence. Terran was now openly studying him with a closed expression, his teasing from moments ago a long forgotten memory. After a few seconds, he stopped stroking his beard and leaned forward a bit. "I like you, Jak," he started. "Have since the day I met you, even if you were wound a little tight. I know people like to call you eco freak behind your back and I've never kept company with any of them. But I need to know; is this some PR stunt to get in the city's good graces, or are my men facing a serious threat?"

"I'm telling you the same things I told Torn," Jak replied evenly. "I don't know. It could be something, it could be nothing." He looked away to the alley. "But don't fool yourself into thinking that sweat running down the back of your neck's from the heat."

Terran swore something vicious. When he finally calmed some, he asked, "Anything else you need to tell me?"

"No heroics. If I tell you to run, run until you can feel the sun on your skin again."

There was another heartfelt oath. "Never pull your punches, huh, boyo?"

"You wanted honesty."

"And I'll thank you for it. Later." Terran turned and let out an ear piercing whistle. "Form up, ranks of two. You are now glued at the hip. One of you goes down, the other damn well better trip over your inattentive ass. This is an unknown hostile situation, so eyes up, guns cocked, and name your target, for Precursors' sake. Unload one shell without the world knowing what you're firing at and I'll make sure you never fire another, got it?" There was a wordless affirmation from the group as they paired up. Terran then took up his own weapon, gesturing for them to lead the way.

With Daxter hunched up against his neck, Jak started walking.

It came in waves, alternating between the hot industrial air it should be there and that fetid, sickly wind from nowhere, like the slow breathing of some great monster. As soon as they began filing through the gap in factories, it felt like the world ceased to exist. The already restricted skyline narrowed down to a single strip of bright light high above everyone's heads. There were random red lights up and down the walls, but none of them provided enough light to see much by. Flashlights snapped on one after another, highlighting the narrow passage and the ever increasing fog at their feet. Other than a few muttered curses and the muted thud of their footfalls, there was no sound. It seemed to take forever and yet no time at all to reach the broken pipe, twisted and bent all out of shape nearly eight feet over their heads, dangling from where it had been ripped out of one the walls. A little beyond that, the passage ended abruptly against the city wall.

"Great," Terran sighed. "A dead end."

"Don't say that," Daxter hissed. "We're jinxed enough without help."

"What did the report say?" Jak asked.

"A woman was walking by this alleyway when she heard someone crying for help. When she went to investigate, she found another woman, badly beaten, curled up and crying not far from the entrance. She tried to offer aid, but the other woman screamed and ran further down the alley. She followed only to see the other woman get attacked in a small clearing by a, and I quote, 'monstrously disproportioned crocadog-like animal,' which tore the poor woman apart. Our witness screamed, drawing the thing's attention and it gave chase when she ran away. She claims the only reason she got away was because it broke the steam pipe and the resulting noise scared it off."

"Sounds like a tweeker got a bad dose," one of the armoured men behind them said. "There's no clearing, no body, no blood… And those creatures would have had to be huge to break that pipe up there. Nothing that size could fit in here to begin with."

"I wasn't asking for opinions, Alaine," Terran shouted. "I've got people paid way more than either of us to give me unsolicited advice, so shut your trap and do your job. Start rapping on the walls, boyos. Look for anything that might prove or disprove the witness."

With some grumbling, the Guard began spreading out. There wasn't much room to go far in, but the groups managed to get coordinated. Some tapped across the walls to test their integrity, some searched higher up for more damage while others attempted to search the ground. Jak ended up by the city wall, hands pressed to the thick stone. Samos always said that rock remembered long after all others forgot. He had neither the Sage's experience nor his control over eco, though the thought persisted that he should able to tell something if he tried hard enough. The only thing he got was the uncomfortable feeling that he was acting like an idiot.

"Something?" Terran asked when he stepped back.

The word "no" never even got past Jak's lips. He had barely managed to turn his head when the entire world seemed to shudder. There were shouts as the walls around them _disintegrated_, pebble sized debris pelting everyone. In a matter of seconds, the once enclosed, cramped corridor became an open space large enough for two hellcat squads. The city wall was completely gone as if it had never stood and the factories had been reduced to shambles, dilapidated to the point of imminent collapse. The now visible sky was fire red with black smoke clouds. A fine ash was falling.

And not more than a dozen yards away, an abomination stared at them. In the most general of ways, it did look like a nightmare version of a crocadog. But the muzzle was too long, easily longer than Jak was tall, and filled to overflowing with sharp teeth that seemed to routinely cut into its lips, making it drool blood. The eyes were bulbous, jaundiced, and bore cross-hatched pupils. Stick thin legs towered the emaciated body a good story high with the bony spines along the back adding another two feet in height. The fur was ragged and patchy, as if it was suffering from a bad case of mange. It shifted, and that's when Jak realized there were three of the things in front of him.

"Run!" Daxter screamed, always faster to speak, but still not fast enough.

"Incoming!"

"Two at three—"

"—one from eight—"

Gunfire and screams filled the air in between.

Jak glanced behind—they were completely in the open now. The squad was doing their profession proud, standing and fighting rather than blindly trying to run. That hadn't saved at least three people, but one of the demonic dogs had paid the price as well. Further back, further than should have been possible, the corridor started again where the broken pipe still poured out steam.

"Back to the pipe!" Jak snarled himself, already pulling on the dark eco in his blood. "Run!"

He only partially heard Terran repeat the order to retreat. There was growing static in his ears and a thick, metallic taste in his mouth. His body began to tingle like he was too close to a generator, the excess electrical power prickling along his skin. There was a terrible pressure in his head and for a moment, he felt supremely nauseous. Then, like someone had flipped a switch, he felt nothing except powerful.

Pitch black eyes opened to the world it had never truly left. Dark snarled, feeling none of the usual vertigo their switch made and leapt to meet the distortions charging from the front. Black claws caught, ripped, tore free from the monstrous head of the first, ruining one eye. It squealed in pain and stumbled as he pulled his fist back, striking what should have been a forehead with enough force to punch through the bone and into the brain. The body shuddered, dead before it hit the ground. Dark rolled under the snap of another's jaws, popping up from underneath to rip out its throat. The third had bypassed its brethren's deaths to join in the harrying of the retreating Freedom Guard. They had managed to kill another and were keeping the remaining two at bay. They were still too far away from the boundary.

He loped toward the group, closing the distance in a manner of seconds, though he still wasn't fast enough to save another unfortunate's life. Distracted as it was with its new kill, the beast never noticed Dark until he slammed into its side. A few pointed rakes with his claws eviscerated it, but he kept digging into the body cavity until everything had been shredded.

The remaining creature turned to take in the last death throes, allowing the Guard to finally break rank and run. It howled, a shrieking sound that shook the ground, and charged. Matchstick legs snapped as a burst of dark eco flew from Dark's hands. It barely slowed the advance. In fact, it made the creature angrier than before. A powerful leap took him out of its direct path, but a quick bite caught a leg in those massive jaws. It shook him hard like a crocadog trying to kill a lurker rat before tossing him up into the air. The muzzle opened wide to catch the falling body. Dark twisted to the side, landing not in the mouth, but on the beast's back. The spines were of little relief compared to the head, though he honestly noticed only the briefest of pains. His concentration was focused on trying not to get thrown off as he dug into the scaled and calloused neckline. After almost getting knocked off several times, enough flesh had been peeled away to reveal bone. He dug his hand in and around the vertebrae and yanked back. There was a sharp yip of pain as the spine snapped before it finally collapsed.

"C'mon," Daxter encouraged as they stumbled away from the latest corpse. "They're almost to the break. Just a bit further, big guy."

Several of the more brainless survivors tried to shoot him as he approached. Terran bullied them down even as he kept an eye on Dark's movements. He bypassed the badly decimated squad for the wall of steam. His claws slashed through the thick air, ripping apart more than the dense fog. A blast of hot, metallic wind rushed over them as the barrier between Here and There ruptured. He stepped aside and gestured to the opening. The remaining Guard members stumbled over themselves trying to get through when another shriek rent the air.

Dark turned automatically, screaming his response to the challenge. The target, however, was not immediately obvious until Daxter shouted and pointed to the ground. Insubstantial like a shadow, drawing the carnage into itself as it flowed over the ground, gaining even more speed with each corpse it took, it rushed toward them. He pushed Terran to the side as the new threat roared up like a rogue wave. More dark eco leapt from his hands as the rapid report of gunfire followed. Thousands of tiny holes appeared in the great swath of black while the eco blasts burned away much larger sections. A second, then a third such blast finally caused it to stagger as bullets continued to punch through, ripping open even greater holes. It shuddered and then collapsed like a sheet lost to the wind, torn to tatters.

Everyone tensed, barely daring to breath as silence once again descended. The seconds ticked by with nothing but their heartbeats making noise. Confident it was well and truly over, Dark shifted his attention back to the opening.

At first, it was difficult to tell that something was wrong. Despite being born from dark eco, it was still an element that was hard to wield. He was tired after using so much and being thrown around in the fight hadn't helped anything either. He healed quickly, but initial blows still hurt. That was why he noticed the sudden sharp pain in his chest as he turned, yet gave it no thought until he distantly heard Daxter yelling.

He went to look at the other and found his head too heavy to move. He felt numb, then cold, then a nothingness that went beyond numb. The world shifted, titled, turned completely to one side, letting him see the thin piece of darkness protruding from his chest as he collapsed. Then his vision was taken up with brilliant blue eyes, wide, frightened, and overly shiny even as it all began to blur together. His hearing went last, leaving him his best friend's scream the final thing in the world as it all turned to oblivion. Again.

* * *

To be continued.


	3. Chapter 3

Just in time for Halloween. Welcome to the Other World.

* * *

Daxter sighed. Dead Precursor Gods, he was tired. And sore. Holy damn, was he sore after getting tossed around like a ragdoll. It was a good thing dark eco was magnetic. In Dark Mode, his paws became practically glued to Jak, the active eco in both bodied drawn so strongly to the other's it was all but impossible to separate once they were close. Between that and his considerable experience with riding on Jak's shoulder plate, there wasn't much worry about getting flung off in the midst of a fast paced action sequence.

That didn't save him as much pain as one would think.

He sighed again and turned his head so that his ear was pressed to Jak's steady heartbeat. The doctors had had a fit about letting him stay, but a few well placed bites had managed to convince the right people that it was better to let him stay with the blond than to force him out. Not that there was much comfort to be taken in winning that particular battle. Hearing that heartbeat was both a blessing and nerve-wrecking, being reassured because it was still pumping away, yet ever anxious to hear the next pulse. As long as the heart continued to rhythmically thump, Jak was still alive, regardless of where the rest of him might be.

Ten men and an ottsel had walked into a seemingly benign alley. Ten minutes later, four men walked back out, dragging an unconscious fifth with a spazzing orange rat attached to him. A couple of hours later, one of the remaining men had succumbed to his injuries and died. Both Terran and his lieutenant, a man called Fenris, were alive and conscious, but hardly all right. Fenris had been badly mauled, losing a leg, a hand, and part of his mind. Terran only came out slightly better—his face now carried an ugly set of scars that had partially blinded him and he'd be in the hospital for months for eco treatments since every cure seemed to lead to some other problem. Jak was the only one still in one piece and healthy, if being comatose could be overlooked.

The entire industrial section had been locked down, from slums to port, save a small section leading to and around the Power Station. Even that was restricted to only essential personnel, which was basically Vin and a handful of escorts. That was kind of funny in Daxter's opinion. The Power Station had to be one of the safest places in the city right now, though if anyone deserved that extra safety, it was Vin. That man had been through enough already. Not that he and Jak hadn't been through just as much, if not more, their circumstances were just a bit different.

A lot different, starting with the fact that because he was currently covered in fuzz meant no one had to listen to him. It didn't seem to matter that he'd been through the whole ordeal as well, that he was still in a position to tell the tale. Torn, Ashelin, and Samos had argued right over the top of his head like he wasn't even there. The only one who had listened had been Vin, and Daxter had a feeling that was more polite courtesy than an attempt to understand what was going on. Yes, the whole thing was a bit much to swallow all at once and yeah, he had a reputation for embellishment, but it was _his_ best friend lying on the damn hospital bed, one missed heartbeat away from never making it back to the waking world. He had a stake in this, too. He might not be able to tell anyone the why or the how, but he definitely knew what was different.

Like the fact that ten people had been pulled over at once. That had never happened before; never that many and never in a single go. Even if one person within the group had felt the draw of the Otherworld, it should have been a flash occurrence. Everyone looks away for less than a second, and then, "Where's Bob?" A blink, and then you're somewhere worse than hell because there's something corrupted and decayed inside you. And being able to watch the world unravel took a special set of circumstances and the right type of person. He should know—he was one of them.

To make things even worse was the fact that those Ravagers, the grotesque mutant crocadogs from the attack, had been _waiting_ for them. The things had been organized into an attack pattern that had almost cut off all escape, which was wrong on so many levels. They were dumb animals, manifestations of monstrous fear and therefore were limited in their functions and instincts. Hungry and violent was about as complicated as they got. Most of the inhabitants were like that, driven solely by whatever had spawned them, and those who were sentient enough to want and think about other things weren't exactly free to just roam around, hatching schemes or planning ambushes. Dark was the only free entity with a mind of his own that Daxter knew of.

That was a wonderful though to carry alone. Hell had spawned a new demon—that Shadow most likely—and it had already bested the fiercest warrior, rather soundly all things considered.

Except that was weird, too, because Jak was still alive. The blow that had dropped him could have been fatal. Should have been, in fact, if this thing was as interested in corpses as it had appeared to be. But it had fled after Jak had hit the ground, folding in on itself until nothing remained. Terran had been the one to drag them back through the torn boundary, which had healed itself after they were through. Jak had slowly reverted back from there to what was considered normal; blond hair, tanned skin, and a distinct lack of extra pointies. Aside from being unconscious, he was perfectly fine.

_For now_ remained a constant looming threat. Not for the first time, Daxter cursed being stuck on one side…

…though he had crossed over before. Not pulled as the squadron had, as most were, but a willful, intentional, complete transference from Here to There. He shuddered at the mere thought even as the half-baked idea took shape. He really was the only one who could do something. He had the experience and an inkling of what was right or wrong with things. He cared about the outcome, because really, it was only a matter of time for Jak. He couldn't just leave it to someone else. Not when even Keira wasn't willing to look past their aberrations.

"Can't be any worse than bustin' yer ass outta prison, right?" His voice shook as he looked at his friend's peaceful face, the bravado falling flat. He uncurled, sitting up so he could really look. The innocence that torture had stripped away was gone forever, but this was pretty damn close. All the angry lines had softened. Hardened features were more relaxed than they had been in a long time. No nightmares, no more struggling and enduring and pretending to be something he wasn't. Even if it was a false peace, wasn't that better than nothing?

He could almost see the disapproving look in his mind, making him chuckle weakly. "Never the easy way with you, huh, pal?" Daxter stood and poked Jak's nose. "Then listen up good, 'cuz this job comes with prerequisites. I don't give a damn 'bout whatever ya use to keep yer moral compass in-line. You use every dirty, low-down, absolute asshole move you hafta to keep yerself alive. You hear me? If I'm gonna fry my ass tryin' to save yers, then ya damn well better make it worth my while." He leaned down, pressing their foreheads together. "Don't you dare leave me behind again, ya jerk, an' I'll make sure it's not two years before ya see the sun again."

He hesitated, half waiting for an answer that would never come, half hoping some astronomical twist of fate would wake his friend without having to go through any of it. As usual, fate hated him and refused to give him an easy out. So he brushed some hair back from his friend's face, set his jaw, and turned away.

Without trying to think of anything other than moving from point A to point B without running into a lot of people, Daxter ran out into the night. If he kept moving, then he couldn't talk himself out of this, or feel guilty about leaving Jak behind again. But it wasn't until he was well outside the hospital and nearly lost in the streets again that he realized he needed to think a bit more than that. To pull this stunt off, he'd need dark eco, a thin boundary, and lots of power behind it all so that he could force his way through. In all of Haven, there was really only one place that fulfilled all three requirements.

"Vin's gonna hate me…" he groaned even as he set off for the Power Station.

()~()~()

To his credit, Vin didn't pass out when Daxter told the eco engineer what he wanted. He'd been excited, horrified, manic, and physically ill twice, but never once did he actively pass out or even try to back away from the task handed to him. The ottsel sat in an out of the way place and watched Vin's machine take shape without trying to let the nervous mutterings or bad memories get to him. Even though he'd been purposefully vague with details, the contraption looked exactly as he remembered, give or take a few things. The sterile gray metal wasn't much more relaxing than the copper of Precursor metal, and there wasn't anything to be strapped to, but the repurposed machinery was still terrifying to behold.

"Okay," Vin finally said. "I've added some extra capacitors to keep it stable and created a continuous feedback loop to stabilize the inherent power fluctuations, but… are you sure about this? I mean, the most common reaction to a direct eco feed is—"

"I know, Vin," Daxter interrupted. "Don't give the universe any new ideas on how to screw me over." He took an unsteady breath. "So, which button do I press?"

"This one." Vin pointed to the panel and the big, shiny red button there. "The system has about a ten second delay for charge building, but once the spark ignites, it'll run at full capacity immediately." He paused, fidgeting. "Um… You're my friend, so I have to tell you that the chances of this succeeding are—"

"It either works, or I'm dead a long time. I know." Daxter tried to smile. "It'll work."

Vin didn't look convinced. "At least tell me how you knew how to build this. I've been sifting through the data files for months and found nothing but scraps about the Dark Warrior program."

"Let's just say Jak ain't the only one who survived."

"But no one did—"

"Let it go, buddy." Daxter gave him a level look. "I know there's a madboy spark in ya that's dyin' to figure it all out, but this thing," he jerked a thumb to the machine, "is worse than a thousand slobberin' Metalheads. You keep yer promise an' destroy it after this is done."

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Let's keep death outta this, shall we?" He jumped up onto the panels. "Thanks, Vin. Yer a great guy."

"If I was so great," the engineer responded, "then I wouldn't let you do this."

"Yeah ya would, 'cuz we both know this is how it's gotta play out." He patted Vin's shoulder. "Now do me one last favor."

"Anything."

"Take a walk. Go have lunch with Tess, then take a nap or somethin'. If nothin's blown up by then, it's safe to come back."

He was stared at for a moment. "You seriously want me to just leave? Now?"

"What happens next is gonna be horrific enough without an audience. I'm not gonna ask you to carry all that around, too."

"So it's okay for me to build this thing and let you kill yourself with it, but it's too much to watch?"

"Yes." The blunt answer seemed to startle the man. "'Remember people for who they were for the whole of their lives, not how they look at the end.' Don't tell him, but that's the best advice Ol' Greenie ever gave."

Vin looked at him quietly for a long moment. "Okay," he finally said softly. "Good luck."

Daxter watched him walk away, half turning a couple of times as if to say something before continuing on again. The doors slid open and he could hear Vin explain to his escort that he needed a break. The doors closed to retreating footsteps. He didn't give himself a moment to reconsider. His foot slammed down on the indicated button and jumped to the floor, scrabbling to get to the designated spot. The approximate ten seconds was more like five before the eco feed started. Then all hesitation was wiped away by pain.

There was no trying to bear it. Daxter just screamed as the dark eco was forced into his system. Screamed until he was beyond hoarse, until his throat turned bloody and torn, one more pain in a maelstrom of others consuming his attention until there was nothing else but the agony. Sharp, endless agony… And then, the break—a part of his mind stepped back, keeping him safe from madness, but only barely. He curled into himself in an effort to keep as far from the pain as possible since there was no other defense. Tighter and deeper into himself until he felt some invisible wall break. Then he was falling…falling…

…until he slammed into something that had absolutely no give. He tried to cry out as more pain flooded into his system only to have it come out as a croaking cough. But there wasn't enough air in his lungs and he couldn't breathe in. He struggled against panic, pushing and fighting himself as much as he was the immoveable object he'd crashed into. Finally, he managed to twist, releasing the pressure crushing his chest, at last drawing a ragged breath. He coughed and wheezed, throat protesting the continued abuse as his lungs threatened to seize once more. Even though the thick taste of blood was enough to make his stomach heave, he found the whole of his attention consumed by trying to draw another breath. It became the entirety of his existence.

How long he laid there in onset shock, Daxter didn't have a clue. Hours, days, or mere seconds…in the long-term scheme of things, it probably didn't matter much. He drifted through consciousness without really being aware until something wailed loudly and much too close for comfort. He jerked upright on high alert only to collapse back down, head throbbing and stomach promising rebellion. A couple deep breaths got him steady again and this time, he went a little slower, opening his eyes to take in his surroundings without moving first.

He was lying on his side on a hard, ruined floor amid a bunch of slagged machinery. Wires and savaged metal was everywhere, so messed up and strewn about that their original purpose could no longer be determined. Not far from his position, he noticed that there was a symbol on the floor, partially covered in rust. It looked something like a broken triangle, the white space resembling a lightning bolt.

Not rust, his mind instantly amended, but blood. Vin's blood specifically, from when Kor had finally turned out his last ace and destroyed Haven's Shield Wall, allowing the Metalheads to infiltrate unimpeded. Trying to protect the eco grid had nearly killed the (rightfully) paranoid engineer. He and Jak had been on the other side of the city helping Keira when Vin's panicked call came, leaving them stuck between loyalties. They had gotten there as quickly as they could, but the Power Station had been completely wrecked by the time they'd shown up. The only reason they had managed to save Vin's life at all was because they had a spare green eco cube on hand, which gave them enough time to get him to the Hip Hog and relative safety and care before the curtains closed permanently.

That must have been the point when this place had become imprinted on the Otherworld. In those scant seconds when his life had almost ended, blood and fear had made the connection between Here and There. The real world's Power Station had been cleaned up, set to rights and scrubbed from ceiling to basement. Vin had recovered from his injuries as best as one could, and then surprised them all by wanting to go back to work. No one could really tell him no since they needed all the help they could get trying to keep Haven alive. So he'd gone back to the job he knew the best and, surprisingly enough, never looked back. He was still paranoid (not that anyone blamed him for it anymore), and he could still work himself into knots that could make him ill, but that lingering edge of fear had evaporated. He might get _scared_, but he was no long _afraid._ That alone ensured that no matter how close one reality sidled up to another, the Power Station wouldn't be used as a front door.

Without much thought, Daxter reached out to touch the mark, only to pull up short. Not because he was afraid to actually touch the stain. Hell, he'd been covered nose to tail in Vin's blood by the time they got to the saloon. Rather, it was because he saw his hand—his human hand—stretching out. No claws, no orange fur. Just pale pink skin under hand wraps and gloves. He sat up, staring in wonder at something he'd resigned himself to never seeing again. After a minute, those hands flew to the top of his head. No ears there, only long red hair that fell further than Jak's, his now very human ears relocated to their rightful spots. No fur on his face, no wet button nose, and oh holy damn, he never thought he'd be so happy about bucked teeth he'd almost cry. Normal arms, legs, minus a tail, and actual feet instead of paws. He wobbled a bit unsteadily on his long legs, wincing as he stepped in something cold and viscous. Wraps weren't going to cut it, it seemed. He'd need to find boots sooner than later, if only so he didn't have to worry about picking nasty things from between his toes. That appeared to be his only clothing requirement, however. Pants, shirt, vest, belt—all the things he hadn't worn since Sandover were there.

The sudden joy at being human again was cut short by a rattling hiss which soon clashed with the eerie wail from before. He immediately looked around for something he could use as a weapon, cursing his stupidity for not trying to bring one with him. Never mind that regaining humanity and therefore needing something to defend himself with had been an after the fact matter, he still swore. He finally spied and pulled free a good length of pipe. Not the best weapon in the world, but better than facing whatever was squabbling outside with nothing. Daxter swung it a couple times to get used to its pull, then carefully picked his way through the Power Station ruins. He squirmed past one of the unhinged doors and looked out cautiously.

The industrial area was a jagged and shattered locale, filled with blackened and burned out buildings as far as the eye could see. When the city had nearly fallen, this part and the factory district had been two of the places hardest hit, in no small thanks to Krew's sellout. It had taken months to get the mess under control and it all could have been ten times worse if Praxis had managed to initiate his final plan to blow up the Precursor Stone. This all was probably only a small part of what that bomb could have done. The broken horizon stretched skeletal fingers toward a crimson sky that was only a few shades from red eco. Thin, smoky clouds were scattered across the vista, circling the monolithic Palace as if it were drawing the vapors in. Peering over deformed spires, a white orb that held some kinship with a sun in the forsaken place hung. Fine gray ash drifted lazily to the ground, never quite settling where it fell. Rather, it swirled ambiently about, flowing along some unseen current that overran the uneven footing.

With all due vigilance, Daxter eased out of the Power Station. Whatever was fighting was now further away, still lost among shadows and the crumbling landscape. Feeling it prudent to not wait around for the victor to come back, he left the dubious safety of the shelter he'd landed in and made tracks in the opposite direction. At least nothing seemed to notice his pounding heart as it tried to hammer its way out of his chest. Still, he kept his ears perked, trying to keep his pace even so that he wasn't a running target or a sitting duck.

He was well away from his starting position when he realized that wandering about without a firm destination in mind might not be the smartest thing he'd ever done. Precursors' only knew what may or may not exist in this world, let alone how to get there. And Jak could be _anywhere_. No, that wasn't completely true. Dark could only go places Jak had been to. Even though they were almost completely autonomous from one another, and Dark was more free-willed shadow than a secondary personality, their connection through the dark eco limited exactly how far away they could be from each other. Ultimately, that meant there was only a dozen or so places he could go where a strong enough emotional attachment would allow them to stay apart. Assuming, of course, any of the rules they had figured out still applied.

Daxter shook his head and started moving again. He wasn't going to think like that. This place had more than enough pain, fear, hate, misery, and desperation to feed on. There was no way he was going to give it more. The Naughty Ottsel was the closest of those places Jak spent a lot of time in. Even though it was extremely unlikely he'd find his friend there (the bar was his place and Jak just spent a ton of time with him), it was someplace to start. That was worth something, right?

* * *

To be continued.

A/N: Due to some poor planning on my part, updates for this story will not be regular. Please see my tumblr (as grimreaperchibi) for update news and other information.


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